Untold Love Stories of the Literary Classics
by misschosaku
Summary: Classic characters such as Sherlock Holmes and Captain James Hook are given their chance at romance in these untold love stories from some of literature's greatest classics.
1. Loving Sherlock

**Author's Note: This is a little story I wrote for fun after watching a Sherlock Holmes movie. It is from the point of view of a young woman named Lily Butler, an actress hired to assist Sherlock and Watson in solving crimes. Please note that Lily does not exist in the real Sherlock Holmes books. She is my own creation. Also, Watson's story of how Sherlock disappeared is taken directly from the story in which it happens. I don't mean to break any copyright laws, and if I do, I apologize. Oh, and if you like this story, let me know, and perhaps I will change it from a one-shot to a full length story. And (this is the last note, I promise!) if you have any other characters you think need love interests, PM me and I might write a one-shot like this for them! I'm thinking my next will be Captain Hook.**

**~ Misschosaku**

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"Where is Mr. Holmes?" I asked, fear tightening around my heart as I looked upon Dr. Watson's solemn countenance. "Why is he not with you?"

Watson closed his eyes, as though suppressing a painful memory. "When we left you this morning, Miss Butler," he said, avoiding my eyes as he spoke, "we were headed in the direction of the falls, as you know. As we looked out over them, we heard a shout, and a Swiss lad came running along it with a letter in his hand. It bore the mark of the hotel which we had just left and was addressed to me by the landlord. It appeared that within a very few minutes of our leaving, an English lady had arrived who was in the last stage of consumption. She had wintered at Davos Platz and was journeying now to join her friends at Lucerne, when a sudden hemorrhage had overtaken her. It was thought that she could hardly live a few hours, but it would be a great consolation to her to see an English doctor, and, if I would only return, etc. The good Steiler assured me in a postscript that he would himself look upon my compliance as a very great favour, since the lady absolutely refused to see a Swiss physician, and he could not but feel that he was incurring a great responsibility.

The appeal was one which could not be ignored. It was impossible to refuse the request of a fellow-countrywoman dying in a strange land. Yet I had my scruples about leaving Holmes. It was finally agreed, however, that he should retain the young Swiss messenger with him as guide and companion while I returned to Meiringen. My friend would stay some little time at the fall, he said, and would then walk slowly over the hill to Rosenlaui, where I was to rejoin him in the evening. As I turned away I saw Holmes, with his back against a rock and his arms folded, gazing down at the rush of the waters. It was the last that I was ever destined to see of him in this world.

When I was near the bottom of the descent I looked back. It was impossible, from that position, to see the fall, but I could see the curving path which winds over the shoulder of the hills and leads to it. Along this a man was, I remember, walking very rapidly.

I could see his black figure clearly outlined against the green behind him. I noted him, and the energy with which he walked, but he passed from my mind again as I hurried on upon my errand.

It may have been a little over an hour before I reached Meiringen. Old Steiler was standing at the porch of his hotel.

"Well," said I, as I came hurrying up, I trust that she is no worse?"

A look of surprise passed over his face, and at the first quiver of his eyebrows my heart turned to lead in my breast.

"You did not write this?" I said, pulling the letter from my pocket. "There is no sick Englishwoman in the hotel?"

"Certainly not!" he cried. But it has the hotel mark upon it! Ha, it must have been written by that tall Englishman who came in after you had gone. He said -- "

But I waited for none of the landlord's explanation. In a tingle of fear I was already running down the village street, and making for the path which I had so lately descended. It had taken me an hour to come down. For all my efforts two more had passed before I found myself at the fall of Reichenbach once more. There was Holmes's Alpine-stock still leaning against the rock by which I had left him. But there was no sign of him, and it was in vain that I shouted. My only answer was my own voice reverberating in a rolling echo from the cliffs around me.

It was the sight of that Alpine-stock which turned me cold and sick. He had not gone to Rosenlaui, then. He had remained on that three-foot path, with sheer wall on one side and sheer drop on the other, until his enemy had overtaken him. The young Swiss had gone too. He had probably been in the pay of Moriarty and had left the two men together. And then what had happened? Who was to tell us what had happened then?

I stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for I was dazed with the horror of the thing. Then I began to think of Holmes's own methods and to try to practise them in reading this tragedy. It was, alas, only too easy to do. During our conversation we had not gone to the end of the path, and the Alpine-stock marked the place where we had stood. The blackish soil is kept forever soft by the incessant drift of spray, and a bird would leave its tread upon it. Two lines of footmarks were clearly marked along the farther end of the path, both leading away from me. There were none returning. A few yards from the end the soil was all ploughed up into a patch of mud, and the brambles and ferns which fringed the chasm were torn and bedraggled. I lay upon my face and peered over with the spray spouting up all around me. It had darkened since I left, and now I could only see here and there the glistening of moisture upon the black walls, and far away down at the end of the shaft the gleam of the broken water. I shouted; but only that same half-human cry of the fall was borne back to my ears." He stopped, noting the stricken look my face now bore.

I had heard nothing after 'It was the last I was destined to see of him in this world'. I had gone numb. Without knowing what I was doing, I began running wildly in the direction of the hills. "Sherlock!" I cried. Tears had begun falling down my face, and I made no move to stop them. "_Sherlock!_"

Dimly, I heard footsteps behind me, as though through a curtain of water. Hands found my arms, grabbed me, pulling me back. Watson's anxious voice soothed me, while he attempted to lead me back towards the inn, finally dragging me upstairs to the small room I occupied. Numbly, I followed him, still crying "No!" I kept repeating the word, as though by repeating it I could somehow change the reality, alter the past. "No," I sobbed, collapsing on the floor. "_No_." I would not believe it. He could not me gone.

I lifted a tearstained face to Watson. "I could have prevented this," I whispered brokenly. "I ought to have insisted on accompanying you this morning. He would still be alive, but for me."

"No, Miss Butler," Watson hastened to assure me. "No, not at all. The fault is mine, and mine alone. Had I not left him alone, had I but listened to my feelings of foreboding, the great detective would be alive still."

I smiled weakly at him, grateful for his kindness. "Go," I said softly. "I will be fine."

With one backwards glance at me, Watson obeyed, shutting the ancient wooden door behind him.

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I went through the next days quietly, unfeelingly. I was aware only of the acute pain I carried within my heart, but could unburden myself to no one. At last, at the urgings of the landlady that some air would do me good, I consented to go and read in the front garden.

I sat there, alone under the gray skies, and pretended to read. I was not really reading, of course. I could not. Every line held a painful memory, and I absorbed nothing from the countless pages I so mechanically turned. I closed my eyes. In the still, damp air, a dog barked.

"Quiet, Lance!" I scolded. The old sheepdog subsided, whimpering slightly at the reprimand, and I began flipping pages again, blankly staring at the words that no longer held any meaning for me. More barking split the air.

"Lance!" I snapped, losing my patience. I looked up so as to find him and drag him inside, and my gaze fell upon a lone man in a gray coat and hat making his way up the road. Unreasonably, I resented this unknown man's careless stroll. It seemed to my grieving mind a mockery of my pain.

And then I recognized the hat. I knew of only one man in all of England who persisted in wearing such an odd creation.

I was on my feet at once, the book dropped, forgotten, on the ground, and then I was running. Running as though my very life depended upon it. The man looked up, no doubt hearing the sounds of my mad dash, and our eyes met. It was him, without a doubt. I closed the distance between us in an instant, and then my arms were around him, holding him tightly to me. His arms tightened around me, and I pressed my face to his shoulder, crying tears of pure joy.

He released me after a moment, keeping his hands on my arms, and stepped back to look at me with that cool, assessing gaze I had seen so often. With a hand, he tilted my chin up, catching a tear on his glove.

"Well, my dear," he said, his eyebrow rising in that familiar manner, "can I take it that you do care for me, after all?"

"Care for you?" I sputtered, staring at him. "You idiot, I've never loved anyone so much in my entire _life_!"

His dark eyes searched mine intently. "That is a very good thing, then," he said softly, without even a trace of his usual barbed mockery, "for I intend to see to it that you never do."

And there, under the cold gray skies of the countryside, Sherlock drew me to him and kissed me.


	2. Wendy and Hook: Only a Kiss

**A/N: Before anyone complains about this...**

**In my story, Wendy is 18, Hook 20, Peter 16, and the other boys various ages from 13-17.**

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"I have an idea," said Wendy. "An idea for our escape."

The chatter about her stopped instantly, and all the lost boys looked up at the young woman expectantly, waiting for what she had to say.

"Well, Wendy? What is it?" Peter asked at last, stepping forwards.

"When we are all up on deck and Hook forces us to choose between joining the crew and walking the plank, I will choose the plank, and go first."

"Oh, Wendy, no!" the boys cried. But Wendy was not finished explaining.

"I will choose the plank," she continued, "and on my way to it I will drop the pretense of being tied up and distract the crew. The rest of you can then attack, and the ship will be ours."

"We'll be outnumbered," said John practically.

"How will we get to Hook?" Tootles wondered.

No one had an answer for this, and they sat in silence again, thinking. At last Peter jumped up crying "I have it!" Expectant faces turned towards him as they had to Wendy moments before.

Once assured of a full audience, Peter went on with his idea. "Wendy, when you run back to the ship, you can thimble 'im. Hook, I mean. The captain'll be so surprised he'll be caught off guard and we can easily knock him overboard to the croc."

The boys looked confused, but Wendy understood immediately. Peter referred to his earlier confusion of a thimble and a kiss. He meant for her to kiss Hook to distract the captain.

Of course, when this was explained to the boys they would have none of it, but Wendy said she was perfectly willing to do it if it would save all their lives, and so they had little choice but to accept the plan.

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Things went perfectly. Wendy choose the plank boldly before anyone else could be asked to speak, and she walked towards it with powerful determination. At the last second, she turned back and ran. She ran right into Hook's arms and kissed him full on the mouth. To the complete and utter surprise of all-Hook included-Hook's response was to kiss her back. For a long moment the two stood after the kiss, staring at each other with queer looks on their faces. Hook appeared rather dazed, and he was helpless as the boys attacked. A strangled "No!" escaped Wendy's lips, but it was lost in the confusion, and the pirate hit the water with a loud splash. The boys cheered, and no one noticed a tear slide down Wendy's cheek.

They had a tremendous party that night, and all the boys ate and drank until they were stuffed, finally falling asleep below decks. But Wendy could not sleep. Thoughts of Hook's fate kept her awake, and at last she rose, and, making her way across the deck of the ship, let herself over the side in a small rowboat.

Quietly she rowed to shore, where she sought out the one place Hook would have gone had he survived: the cave. The dark grotto where he had first kept himself alive when the croc bit off his hand.

Wendy anchored the boat at the mouth of the cave and tiptoed in silently. As it grew longer, the cave widened and lightened slightly, due to a few holes in the ceiling, and at last she stood in the center of a large stone room. She could not tell if the dark mass huddled in the corner was human or not, but she called out anyway. "Hook?"

The mass turned and rose, revealing itself to indeed be the pirate captain. He looked weary. His wig and heavy coat had come off, and his short dark hair was soaked from his fall of the ship. One of his arms was poorly bandaged with a piece of his shirt, and his pant leg was ripped at the knee.

"Who's there?" he asked warily.

Wendy stepped into the sliver of light cast by the one hole in the ceiling of the room. "It's Wendy."

For a second it seemed as though Hook were about to smile, but then his face tightened and he snapped "What are you doing here? Have you led the boys to the cave in order to finish me off? As you can see, the crocodile did not quite succeed." He held up his bandaged arm and unwrapped it, revealing several long, angry scars on his forearm.

Wendy drew in her breath, horrified. "Oh, Hook," she whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Hook's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "Sorry that I survived your plan? Oh, it was your plan all along, wasn't it, Wendy Darling?"

"No-" Wendy began, but she stopped. "Well, yes it was. Partly. But I didn't know-"

"That I'd survive the croc?"

"I didn't know I'd fallen in love with you." Wendy said softly.

"Oh, brilliant," Hook spat. "Using the same tactics again, I see. Well I'm sorry, Wendy, but it won't work twice." He turned away. "Call them quickly," he said. "Before I hurt _you_." He whirled around, sword in hand. "Or perhaps I ought to finish the job the croc started myself?"

"No!" Wendy cried. "James, don't!"

Hook stopped. "What did you say?" he asked.

Wendy was crying now. "Please, James, don't," she begged. "I'm not lying to you. I love you. I think I've loved you since the day in the lagoon, only I was stupid and I never thought-"

Hook snorted, stopping her. "I don't believe you, Wendy," he said coldly.

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off once again. "I don't believe you," he repeated, "but I'm going to let you live anyway. God knows why. You'll only call the boys and it will mean my death." He pointed the sword at her, a queer light in his eyes. "Go!"

Wendy didn't move. The tears fell silently down her cheeks.

Hook dropped the sword to the ground with a clang. "Go, damn you!" he yelled. "Why won't you go?"

He was crying now, too, angry tears that filled his eyes, and he fell to the ground, weeping. Wendy could bear it no longer, and she ran towards him. "Oh, James," she whispered, crying too, harder now.

Hook raised his head. "Why won't you _go_?" he whispered brokenly.

"I told you," she said. "I love you."

Hook shook his head. His dark, wet hair fell into his eyes. "No you don't," he said bitterly. "No one could. Not a broken, bitter, poor excuse for a human being like myself. Save your breath, Wendy."

Tenderly, she reached out and brushed a strand of his hair away from his face. "When will you believe me?" she asked him. Leaning towards him, she pressed her lips lightly to his own. "I _love_ you, James Hook."

A look of wonderment crossed the pirate's face, and he seemed to give in. "You do." It was a simple statement, pure and quiet, and it filled Wendy's eyes once more with tears.

"Always," she told him.

And James Hook kissed her.


End file.
